


Scheherazade

by bonespell



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Legend Is A Traitor, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), The Shadow - Freeform, as you do when you're a link, everyone is full of regrets, feel free to bother me for answers y'all i know what at LEAST half of this means, hyrule is working his ass off on forbidden magic to save legend, i'm back and as extra as ever!, legend makes a dumbass deal, poemfic?, read the note at the end and comment your opinion if you follow my work please, songfic but like. with a poem., sorta - Freeform, this is a bit confusing buckle up, warriors is super sus on legend and full of regrets, wrote it in one sitting so understandably so ig, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonespell/pseuds/bonespell
Summary: The story ends like this - with broken hearts broken from realization (as they always are in the end), and broken bonds with the potential to be repaired (but not the time).Endings are fickle - changing on a whim. The storyteller can always decide to change it if they wish, and you will be none the wiser. The sad truth of endings falls to this - How trustworthy is the storyteller?Legend refuses to speak in parentheses any longer.
Relationships: Hyrule & Legend (Linked Universe), Legend & Warriors (Linked Universe)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Scheherazade

**Author's Note:**

> hey! been a hot minute, huh? i've had a LOT of schoolwork and also maybepossibly gained a new hyperfixation, so all my thoughts have been split between the pair of them.
> 
> i'll admit, maybe this is a bit confusing. that's. that's fair. i'm sure you're all smart enough to pick it apart - i believe in you!
> 
> this was for the lu discord's rivalries prompt week - i really said "haha what if i did rivalries but they're enemies instead" and then shark enabled me a LOT so here we are
> 
> the poem that makes up a lot of the italics is scheherazade by richard silken! it's a banger! go read it! this is just the poem equivalent of a songfic! 
> 
> without futher ado, enjoy!

_tell me about the dream where we pull bodies out of the lake-_

The story begins like this - with broken hearts from betrayal, and broken bonds from distrust. It is a beginning set in stone, as beginnings tend to be. Beginnings are strong and solid and trustworthy - it is endings you must watch out for.

Warriors can consider himself well-read, he thinks. He is, perhaps, a farm boy by birth, but his life has led him somewhere where it is necessary to be, at the very least, decent. He recalls two different types of nights before two different types of warm fires. One is dry and curled in a blanket with a book as his eyelids droop and the moon rises. The other is less welcoming, perhaps, and warm all the same.

In this type of night, Warriors sits with his comrades around a warm fire in a cold night. Perhaps one of them is injured - It is, to be fair, more than likely. They are a reckless bunch - no matter what bunch he thinks of, this holds true.

He still has his book, but the dog-eared page remains untouched as he laughs with those he loves around him. The night may be cold, but their quiet words keep his heart ablaze.

The book Warriors carries with him is a classic. It tells the tale of a woman who was to be queen, but only for a night. Her husband executes his brides as the sun rises, and this courageous woman refuses to be next. Her name is Scheherazade, and she tells stories of anything she can think of to delay her final breath - she saves herself with only her wit and her imagination.

Warriors knows this book from cover to cover, and yet he reads it again. Something about the story does not get old - it does not age as the pages yellow and his hands grow too large for the fingertip indents on the cover. It is as timeless as time is not.

He prays the book remains safe and dry inside his bag as the mud sink into every other part of him. It is cold and wet, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand. It simply smears the mud, doing little to actually remove it - Warriors accepts this fate and accepts the upcoming trudge back to his group. It will be miserable, but he’s sure he can make it - though he admits it’d be more helpful if he had the damndest of clues as to his location.

There is the loud snap of a twig, and Warriors snaps his head up towards it. His muddy fingers grip the mud-slick handle of his sword and prepares for just about anything to crest that hill. The likelihood that it will not be friendly is high.

Warriors had prepared for _just about anything_ \- he was _most definitely_ not prepared for this. The thing - _and does he deserve more than thing as a label? surely not_ \- that crests the hill is none other than the pink-haired traitor. 

Legend raises a careful, calculating eyebrow. “Warriors.”

Warriors is, quite frankly, furious. He does not think before he moves - he thrusts his sword at Legend’s throat.

_and dress them in warm clothes again._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Hyrule’s disdain is gentle and false; he knows he is not an actor, and yet he hopes nobody is perceptive enough to read him.

His books are worn and stained - He is not very well read, he’ll admit, and it’s greatly taxed his progress. He is, at heart, a vagabond - heroing is no career, and he knows this. It is more pain than he is worth, and Hyrule has never had too much need for material spending anyway.

The person who taught him to truly read, rather than use his method of practiced guesswork, used to curl up with him at night, pressed back to back against the cold. Hyrule remembers how he’d push back his pink fringe with his fingers, how he’d sigh and try to pretend he had no smile.

His sharp retorts with no real venom and his lithe hands bandaging anyone’s wounds and his peculiar manner of speech; picked up from travelling to many a world in a short time. The way his blue eyes would glint in the firelight as he held his laughter in his throat.

The last Hyrule saw of him, his eyes were a red deep enough to drown in. Hyrule had stared into them and felt himself choke. The dark veins creeping among his limbs were worse to look at, so Hyrule kept their eyes locked - the memory is burned into the back of his eyelids like a hostile brand.

Hyrule’s brain is glitched text - the kind in magic that burns people’s eyes out and watches as the blood flows down their cheeks. It does not hear the screams, for it is inanimate. It cannot feel the consequences of its actions.

Hyrule sort of wishes he too was glitched text - what he is doing is forbidden on all accounts, a crime against magic and a sin against humanity. Hyrule’s humanity left that day with the blade it had pressed to his throat, and only he had been close enough to hear the fear in its voice as it told the others not to follow.

What he is doing is unstable. This is neither opinion nor morality - simply fact. This is as likely to kill them both as it is to help one. Still, Hyrule must try it - what choice does he have? He would rather die knowing he did something than live knowing he didn’t.

It is his watch - as soon as Four drifts to sleep in his bedroll, Hyrule unfolds his unfinished notes.

_how it is late, and no one could sleep,_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Legend is much stronger than Warriors remembers - he is covered in bandages, but Warriors has a memory of the last time he’d seen the traitor. His body had been covered in spiderwebbed black veins, spreading with every move. His steely eyes are as red as they were that night in the firelight.

“Are you done?” Legend states bluntly, and it causes Warriors’ blood to boil. In that moment, his rage should make him indomitable, but his frozen muscles refuse to comply. The tip of the blade hovering in front of his face is pulled back, and a bandaged hand is offered in its place.

Warriors lets his brother- no, no. Lets the traitor haul him to his feet, gently patting his arm to make sure he’s steady before letting go. The act is so full of the _care_ that had gone taken for granted during their heroic campaign across the convoluted multiverse - it makes Warriors feel _some_ kind of horrible twist in his chest. He cannot identify what sort of twist it is.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, no small amount of anger lacing his words.

“Passing through,” The traitor says nonchalantly, and Warriors wants so badly to clench his fist and slam it into the side of that smug face. There are two issues - one, Legend would likely kill him where he stood ( _Traitors do not share our moral code, Link-_ ), and the face, for once, is not smug. It is deadpan and without feeling.

( _Some deep part of Legend cries to be let free - he wants to apologise, to explain. He cannot and he won’t - He is a traitor now, and he must bear the weight of his wrongdoings._ )

“You can keep going now,” Warriors tries to snap, but the words come out choked. Legend raises a thin eyebrow at him. If more rage could fit under Warriors’ bubbling skin, this action would cause it would take its place alongside its brethren.

“All due respect, Captain,” The traitor says with a flourish of his hands as he turns. Warriors’ first thought is he hates how well Legend can play his role - then reality is as cold as the rain sliding down the back of his tunic in reminding him that this is no act. “I’d hate to leave you out here alone and freezing. Truly, I would.”

“Forgive me if that’s hard to believe.”

“My intuition tells me you care very little for my forgiveness.”

“You intuition is right,” Warriors bites, waiting for a response and staring in confusion as he does not receive one.

Legend stares at him for a long while before saying, “Y’know, Captain, in my memories your eyes are blue like the clear sky after it rains. However, as I look at them now, I notice they’re sort of gray. They remind me of the world after the rain floods it - it never sees the clear sky blue.”

“Quit speaking in tongues.”

“Why?”

Warriors fists his hand into the front of the traitor’s tunic, slamming him back against a tree. He is close enough to hear the _oomph_ that leaves his lips. Warriors reminds himself to think of this bastard as the traitor - he does not want to tarnish his memories of Legend with this red-eyed imprint of the hero he knew.

“Because,” Warriors hisses, close enough to feel his breath and hear his sharp inhales over the pouring rain. “It’s annoying.”

The traitor’s lips curl into a sick smile, and he laughs. “Annoying? Captain, please. Surely you’re more mature than this.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Warriors mutters under his breath, dropping Legend- _the traitor_ back on his feet. “I have somewhere to be.”

“You won’t find them without help,” The traitor calls, tone undeniably smug. “This world isn’t its own anymore, hero - And alas, I am not the darker force it belongs to.”

“So you want to tag along, leech?” Warriors asks carefully, not turning back around to look at him.

“Indeed. I even have a horse - Can you stand my presence for long enough to share it?”

“I suppose,” Warriors huffs, sheathing his sword and turning around. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

The traitor offers Warriors an arm, pulling him up on the back of the horse. Warriors stubbornly ignores the chorus in his head chanting _trust him, trust him, trust him_.

_the horses running until they forget they are horses._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_it’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,_

Hyrule can no longer sleep - he lays awake at night worrying. Would the universe inform him of Legend’s passing, if it was to come? Would they leave him lying awake wondering?

Hyrule would like to think the former, but the latter is more befitting of the cruel goddesses they worship. Their heroes have always merely been tools, and Legend is once again their latest victim.

Hyrule thinks it is unfair - Legend has been through more than the rest of them by a mile. He has been on too many adventures; had been before he even grasped adulthood, and even now, as barely an adult, he’s discovered he was born to die.

The rest of the camp bustles about - Warriors has been missing in this rainy world for days, and there is no trace of him. Hyrule hasn’t enough training for a tracking spell of the caliber required, so they are left to only their own instincts.

Hyrule is absent-minded in his steps - he is too busy thinking to notice the handle protruding from the ground before he steps on it. He barely contains his yelp as he stumbles - he does not fall. Instead he crouches down next to it, and as soon as his hand wraps around the leather hilt of the blade, he knows exactly who it belongs to.

( _Hyrule is cold, and there is a shaking arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulling him along. His own blood drips from the slice in his forehead and down his face, and Legend knows his frantic words betray the fear he contains in relation to the black marks spiderwebbed across his pale skin. He pointedly does not look as they climb - He can feel Hyrule staring._ )

The blade itself shines gold through the mud. Hyrule tests the weight in his hand, tossing it once, twice, thrice.

( _Hyrule gently brushes his fingers against the vein marks - “Please don’t do this. We need you.”_

_Legend looks down at him, regret in his soul-that-is-no-longer-his. They are red. “I haven’t a choice, don’t you understand? By saving your fate, I’ve sealed mine.”_

_“What do you mean?” Hyrule cries, and does not receive a response in favour of being pulled into the woods faster._ _Legend cannot stop now- there is no time._ )

Hyrule remembers the cool metal pressed to his throat - the adrenaline had been in his veins, yet he had been single-minded in the knowledge that Legend would not hurt him. Legend would never hurt him.

( _“When we reach the others,” Legend pants, nearly tripping on a root. Hyrule stares up at him in horror._

_“When we reach the others,” He repeats, “Pretend it was me who took you hostage. I’ll put my blade to your neck. Stay still - I won’t hurt you. I’d never.”_

_Hyrule blinks once in confusion before he is thrust in front of Legend, staring into the eyes of his seven others._ )

He had kept his promise.

( _“You bastard!” Twilight snarls. It’s animalistic, and Legend feels the hair on his arms raise._

_Ever the actor, Legend simply laughs. “Oh, Twilight. How naive of you to think- It’s endearing, really.”_

_“What the fuck do you mean?” Wind shouts, eyebrows furrowed._

_“I was never your brother,” Legend sneers, watching the entire group flinch. He flinches as well - He knows Hyrule felt it, but he’s also sure Hyrule can tell this is all a ploy. Legend prays Hyrule will stand true._

_“What do you want?” Time asks. It’s calm and collected. Legend can see the whirlpool contained in his eyes._

_“Him back,” Legend motions at Hyrule, snugly in his grasp, “In exchange for a free walk out of here.”_

_“Legend-” Warriors begins, but Time simply nods, and Hyrule is shoved forwards into the crowd. Before Hyrue turns around, Legend make sure he is gone - into the foliage._ )

Now Hyrule will keep his.

_it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The traitor stokes the fire safely sheltered in the mouth of the overhang, and Warriors does not look at him. It make him sick to see his face, to try to decipher what is going on in that familiar-yet-fake head of his.

“What’s with all of the looks?” The traitor asks, and Warriors turns around, anger clear on his face.

“Why?” He responds simply - the question is easy enough to understand, and he can see Le- _the traitor_ jerk at the flat tone he asks it in.

“I hate myself for what I did, Wars, but I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.” He responds, and Goddess, if that isn’t the most excuse-me answer Warriors has ever heard.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” He snarls, satisfied with the way the traitor’s eyes snap up with the briefest, momentary traces of fear. “You’re a traitor, Legend!”

Legend meets his gaze with the same familiar burning fire in his unfamiliar eyes. “One thing you learn, Captain, is that the right decision isn’t always the favourable one. I don’t expect you to get it - your rank means nothing when you’ve only fought one battle.”

“You’re so dramatic. You betrayed us, Legend! You made your choice! You-"

“I made the _only_ choice!” Legend roars, and they stare at eachother for a moment, heaving in breaths. They are both in a fighting position, Warriors notices - this very well may escalate to physical violence. Some twisted part of him hopes for it.

“Forget me, Warriors.” The traitor spits finally. “I’ll be easier to kill.”

“We can’t be happy without you!” Warriors shouts, finding he means it. He doesn't care if animals or any manner of beast finds their location - this conversation is long in the making. It has been fermenting in Warriors’ soul for a long time.

“Why not?” The traitor crouches back down, continues stoking the flame. It is less warm on Warriors’ face, and more of a burn. The atmosphere hurts. “You and all of your books, Wars-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“-They fool with your perception of the world. Your head floats in a sea of romanticized stories about the life of a hero… they never show the gritty part. You are the kind of hero that is written of - pretty, sinless. My blood is as black as the night, and I will not be written about - my fate will be gritty and miserable all because I did the right thing.”

“How is what you did the right thing?”

“I protected all of you.”

“How the hell did you manage that, traitor? We’re all fucking _broken_ , no thanks to you.”

_(“I can’t admit-” Legend cuts himself off, bandaged hand clapping over his traitorous mouth._

_“Can’t admit what?” Warriors bites. His eyes are as cold as the blue they take the shade of. Can’t admit I’m doing this for all of you, Legend’s equally traitorous mind screams against the confines of his skull. The thought begs to escape the oppressive dark. Can’t admit I care.)_

“That’s no longer my problem, is it?”

“You’re a selfish _bastard_ ,” Warriors hisses, and in that moment he believes it wholeheartedly. “You never gave a fucking shit about us, did you?”

( _What if I didn’t?_ )

Legend stays silent.

( _Don’t lie to yourself, little hero. You did all of this for them, you know._ )

( _Shut up._ )

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days_

Time is not forgiving - Warriors _knows_ this. His adventure was a war in which timelines converged against an ultimate threat. In the end, time will always bring tragedy.

He lays in his bedroll, memories from a different time swirling around his skull.

“Listen,” Warriors would say, wild grin on his lips. “If I’m going down, you’re going down with me.” 

This was a different time, a different Warriors. A different Legend. 

This Legend was the same one who scolded him for self-sacrifice and bad pick-up lines alike. This Warriors was the one who teased Legend for his pink hair until he noticed the look on Legend’s face.

This Legend and this Warriors were comrades. This warm camaraderie is replaced with cool shards of a broken relationship. Warriors cuts himself on distrust and hatred with every uncaring step of his cold feet.

This Legend and Warriors were known as Legend and Warriors, rather than _Traitor_ and _Captain_ and any other manner of pseudonym that contains enough bite to stab the other’s heart with a metaphorical dagger until it can be done with a real one.

This Legend and Warriors were friends.

Warriors slips out of his bedroll and silently crouches next to where the traitor sleeps. He is hyper-aware of the knife in his sleeve, and he knows this is his moment. The traitor was an idiot to trust him, an idiot to-

The precariously-secured bandage around the traitor’s neck has unraveled itself enough to reveal the black magic twisting itself upon every inch of his skin. There is far more than Warriors remembers - and he cannot be making a mistake, for his memory of the night is vivid and painful.

Warriors sighs, leaving the bandage and padding quietly back to his own bedroll. Perhaps tonight is not the night. He will do the job tomorrow.

( _Why not kill him, little hero? It is him or you._ )

( _Then it will be me, a thousand times over. I will die as many times as I need before I see him hurt by my hand._ )

( _Can’t you see he is already?_ )

_were bright red,_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“There was something in your heart I loved, once. I can dig all I want, but all I pull away is black ash.” Warriors says the next morning. The statement is entirely unprompted, and the traitor looks at him with a sly grin.

“And you shit on me for speaking in tongues,” He says, and for a moment Warriors thinks he sounds how he used to. The bandages and black magic spread across his body deter this image, but Warriors cannot help and treasure it still.

The way things were are precious to him - he misses the friendly hair ruffle and the tight hugs and the playful jeers. The jeers are honest and hostile now, and it is only a matter of time until one of them winds up dead. 

Warriors knows he cannot let it be him - he could not finish it last night, but he will do it if he must. He misses the ability to press a soft kiss to Legend’s sleeping forehead, knowing he would never get away with such an action while he was awake. Legend was his little brother - this traitor is nobody but a tool to get him home. Then, he vows, he will finish the job.

( _How was he a captain if his thought process is so obvious?_ )

( _You’re not going to make me hurt him._ )

( _Hm._ )

_and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The atmosphere of the air changes that morning - Hyrule feels the magic shift. It is not the sort of shift that indicates a switch; no, it indicates some sort of superpower. Hyrule calls it out and the entire group goes on guard.

  
  


The rain has not once stopped since they came to this goddess-forsaken land. They do not know whose land it is, and they may never, depending on how soon they skip over to the next land. All of the Links are painfully aware that this is little besides a race against time - If they do not find Warriors before they are spirited away, there’s no telling what will happen.

Hyrule clutches the hilt of the muddy blade he’s hidden in his tunic. He holds onto every futile hope he’s ever been given - He will not allow Legend to seal his fate like this. He just has to find him first.

His gut tells him he’s with Warriors. His gut informs him of the manner in which they will find them.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_Look at the light through the windowpane._

Warriors pulls his blade as soon as he smells the rotten air.

“You liar!” He snarls. “You led me to a trap!”

“So quick to assume, Captain,” The traitor says smoothly, gently pressing his palm to the blade and pushing it away from him. He ties his horse to a low-hanging branch. “Would I really do such a thing?”

Warriors does not grace him with either the answer he wants or the answer he deserves. The traitor’s red eyes stare into his own, and they hold this. “You promised to take me home.”

“And that I did!” The traitor responds. “Look towards the treeline - they will emerge any second now. I’ll be honest with you, Wars-”

“Don’t ca-”

“Don’t interrupt me. Let me finish. I’ll be honest with you, Wars. I _hate_ this stupid voice in my head, and it seems to think there’s some kind of job for me to finish. You made me realise there is - it’s just not the one the voice thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you get to go home, and I get to do what I gotta do. Wars, just turn and walk into the woods. Don’t look back.”

It’s in that moment when Warriors begins to understand. He looks past the red in those (un)familiar eyes and realises that the trai- _Legend_ has not changed. The pieces of the puzzle in his head mold themselves accordingly, and finally they click together.

“Legend-”

“See you on the other side, Warriors. I can see it again, I think. Your eyes are as blue as the clear sky after it rains - look up. The clouds have cleared.”

“Legend!” Warriors calls, and then he is slammed into from behind. Wind is wrapped around his waist, sobbing. Warriors wants to comfort him, truly, but there is no time. There is a life at risk, a hero at risk, an end to come. It will not be his own, and he refuses to let it belong to Legend.

In this position, he can only look at the sky. Legend is telling the truth - the clouds have parted, and the sun shines down warm on this gray plain.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The story ends like this - with broken hearts broken from realization (as they always are in the end), and broken bonds with the potential to be repaired (but not the time).Endings are fickle - changing on a whim. The storyteller can always decide to change it if they wish, and you will be none the wiser. The sad truth of endings falls to this - How trustworthy is the storyteller?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_That means it’s noon,_

Legend refuses to speak in parentheses any longer.

He is sick of being trapped inside his own head, waiting for this fucking _bullshit_ curse to overtake him. He stares defiantly at the shape forming in front of the endless sea of malice.

( _Truly, I didn’t think you had the guts_ ), it jeers, and Legend clenches his fist, letting the bandages tense and rip against his tendons. He’s tired of being a pawn. He will not lie to himself and tell himself that pawnhood is the fate for him - Legend has never been one for _rules_.

“You would,” Legend snarks, familiar smug grin bleeding into his expression. “You never thought I had a backbone, hm? Forgot who I was?”

_(What’s the meaning of this?!_ )

Legend throws the bandage from around his neck onto the wet ground, watching as it darkens. He can hear faint yelling from behind him, and hopes none of them will shoot prematurely. The positioning of this feels strangely familiar - him, stood protectively between the threat and some of the only people he’s ever loved, about to die for them without question. For some other life, he does wonder how it went. He supposes he’s about to know.

The malice bubbles, and the shadow takes a solid form.

It looks like him.

“Foolish of you to bring yourself to me in your entirety,” Legend says smoothly, looking to his side. The sunlight has nearly hit them. He must do this before it does - it will incapacitate him and the shadow both, but kill only the mortal of the two.

( _What can a traitor do?_ ) The shadow asks, but its tone betrays the fear. It is not an actor like Legend - its smooth talking skills are easily shakable. ( _You’re a weak mortal hero. You’ve always been a pawn, you know._ )

“Perhaps I have,” Legend agrees. “Perhaps you’re right, and you’ve always been in control. But I digress - which of us still speaks in parentheses?”

Legend refuses to be silenced any longer. While the shadow still is, he takes the chance and one, two steps forward, and just as the sun hits both of them, he pushes through the pain and throws himself- 

In one easy movement, Legend knows he’s secured his place in history. The shadow and him go tumbling over the side of the cliff they stand on, and-

Perhaps the best type of story is one without dialogue. It relies on description and longing looks - they ask for a number of things, ( _loyalty, love, a quick death_ ) and it pulls the reader in to try and decipher all of this code. This story is not one like that - It is heavy and it is cold. It is the feeling of drowning when you are so close to the surface. Legend thinks that it’s some sort of fitting end, really - the veteran with an endless arsenal and endless tricks meets his end of his own volition. Perhaps he will not be written as the hero of this story, but the ones he loves are safe and warm on shore. If that’s true, does his legacy really matter?

Legend may die a villain in Warriors’ eyes and the eyes of the watching world, but as he hears them hold their breath for him, he entertains the thought that he may have done well enough for them to care after all this time.

_that means we’re inconsolable._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_…_

_read it again?_

_but the story isn’t over yet!_

_yes it is!_

_are you sure?_

_..._

_please?_

_…_

_of course._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again_ -

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_wait! you’re going too fast!_

_but my dear, i thought you wanted to read it again?_

_but we never heard the end! we can’t leave it there! what happens next?_

_that is forever up to speculation, isn’t it?_

_you speak in tongues._

_i do not._

_i don’t understand._

_…_

_what do you think happens?_

_  
  
_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


We make up our own endings - if the ending is unclear, there is something undoubtedly _human_ that thinks _this cannot be it. This must continue_ ,

It is the true ending because you have decided it is, and it goes like this.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Warriors cannot move. Legend has gone over. No. This cannot be how it ends. Warriors vaguely registers himself screaming to the heavens, begging for this to be fake. Warriors still needs to apologise. He has so much more to say.

A voice in his head speaks in parentheses.

( _“Don’t you understand, Hero? Link sold his soul to protect your shared spirit… I own him now. Give up.”)_

“No,” Warriors growls under his breath. There is something off with this voice - it starts smooth and gurgles its way through the sentence.

( _There is always a deal you can make, you know. Take his place._ )

Warriors considers it, before he realises how this voice feels. He rejects it - he will not have the black marks that cause Legend’s unjust end, the dark magic that webbed across his skin until there was more it than him.

“No,” Warriors says loudly, and the group looks at him confusedly. He gently detaches Wind from his body. “I’ll save him myself, thank you.”

There is nothing but a faint gurgle, and the presence vanishes from his mind.

He stands. This is not the ending they deserve - it will not be the ending they receive.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us._

Powerful a hero as Warriors is, Hyrule knows he cannot beat this on his own. As the rest of the group sprints after Warriors, whether to help or to stop, he pulls out the books from his bag. Hyrule will admit time and time again he is no sort of well-read, but he has memorized the incantation for this moment.

It could kill him - It is a risk he will take.

Four is the last to leave - he gives Hyrule a simple nod, and runs. For a moment, Four’s shadow moves of its own accord.

Hyrule thinks he understands. He flips open the book to the page he needs, and shuts his eyes, feeling the pool of magic in his belly _rise, fill, expand_. It is begging to be used, and he will oblige.

He has saved it for so long, only for this moment. The spell is ancient and forbidden, but he chants it as it tears at his soul, at his spirit- it hurts, but he will not stop. He will take any risk he must.

Thunder strikes from the storm clouds, and the malice pool bubbles aggressively. It is starting to steam, and the smell is putrid - Hyrule intends to banish it, to reveal the broken hero at the bottom and beg him to breathe in.

The rain begins again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_these, our bodies, possessed by light_.

Warriors steels himself when the rain begins again, sizzling against the malice it is disintegrating - he pulls off his boots and up his pant legs, and wades in.

It burns so immensely, so much, and Warriors can almost not handle it. He can see the blisters where the malice ripples against his skin and pulls back, but he will handle the burn. The rain soothes it, balances it out - The universe is in his corner, it seems.

There is a path clearing itself, and something washes to shore - there is a golden bracelet on a blackened hand. Warriors reaches down instantly, hissing at the pain, and pulls it out - and with it comes Legend.

Warriors cannot help but stand there in the goop for a moment, holding Legend in his arms. His hat and his boots are lost, and he is unconscious, head staring at the sky. The blackened wounds start sloughing off - Warriors realises they are not wounds at all, but instead the malice itself, flaking from his skin.

He wonders how this looks from a bystander perspective - a single ray of sunlight pierces through the clouds and lands on them. Legend’s face is clear of the black marks and the bandages, and Warriors cannot feel anything but relief. The malice no longer hurts - and he registers that, at some point, the lakebed had replaced it.

Cool water laps at his burnt, blistered skin as storm clouds circle them from above. Warriors can _smell_ the ozone in the air - it is clean like the aftermath of a storm.

He thinks that this is the aftermath of a storm - the worst part is over. Now comes recovery.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_From somewhere else, there is a cry. It is mournful but happy, bittersweet but bright. Gentle but loud. It comes from everywhere and nowhere all at once - if any of them had been paying attention, they may have noticed it was a response from the goddess herself._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Hyrule exhales - he is no longer burning. The rain soothes his skin, and he sees Twilight’s boots in front of him. He knows Twilight knows what he did. Twilight’s always been good at detecting magic.

Twilight scoops him up to carry him to the group.

“Don’t tell,” Hyrule whispers.

Twilight stops to look down at him, and smiles gently. 

“I won’t.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_The ending to this tale is hopeful and sad. perhaps it is bittersweet, but that is nobody’s business to decide._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Warriors is staring into the the skyline. The clouds are beginning to clear - more sunlight pierces through happily, dancing amongst the leaves in the distant trees.

There is a tap on his shoulder.

He looks down, and smiles.

“Hey, Wars,” Legend smiles tiredly, cupping Warriors’ cheek gently and leaning his head on the captain’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Warriors replies softly, smile matching Legend’s. He looks into Legend’s eyes.

They are blue, just as they have always been.

  
  


_tell me how we’ll never get used to it._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_read it again?_

_…_

_of course._

**Author's Note:**

> and scene.
> 
> surely that was a ride, hm? i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> quick q: would anyone be upset if i posted possibly a few dream smp fics here? that's the other hyperfixation i've been locked in since october i'll be entirely honest
> 
> comment, as always! i refresh my inbox all the time! comments fuel the hell outta me! love you all!
> 
> links (come say hi/and or yell at me for my sins!!! also questions this time lmao i know this is Distressing - just stick em in my ask box or insta dms!)
> 
> tumblr: http://bonespell.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> instagram: https://instagram.com/bonespell._?igshid=ldttylwcn5ke


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